


stars, collections, her eyes so bright

by Antares (Alvaerele)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alvaerele/pseuds/Antares
Summary: reader inserts for star wars. requests come from my tumblr livefree-dontjoin. mostly dj stuff.





	1. bar heist (dj/reader)

_**Anonymous asked:**  DJ and (fem) reader are at the casino (or bar), having a few drinks and pick-pocketing whenever able to. Then jealous DJ comes out when he spots another drunk man getting all touchy with reader? please and thank you <3_

* * *

 

           “Okay, what’s our game plan?” you asked, voice low, as you and your accomplice sat unscrupulously in the corner of the bar  _least_  shed in light. “In and out, as many pockets we can until we’re caught?”

           DJ leaned into the bar, eyes squinting as he picked out a few would-be targets. He shook his head. “Security’s too tight for that, I’d wager. M-m-m-maybe we should pull that stunt you love so much.”

           You scoffed, almost offended.

           “You think I  _like_  flirting with drunks for their pocket change? I have  _some_  dignity, DJ.”

           The grin he wore was cheeky; he was lucky you found him too endearing to ever retaliate. But you sat with the idea for a minute, continuing to scope out the bar’s attendees. Usually you two would raid establishments whose most respectable clientele had broken translators and chits bordering on nil. Not to mention this  _stunt_  usually resulted in a black eye and some alien saliva on your neck.

           So yeah, not ideal.

           But in this bar, which was admittedly more high-end, flooded with businesspeople and entrepreneurs alike, some of which were… handsome. Dreamy. And,  _oh, my God, was that Poe Dameron?_  No – just a doppelganger. But maybe the closest you’d ever get to meeting the legendary Resistance pilot.

           “You gonna order anythin’?” You looked up, suddenly broken from your trance, to see a human bartender facing you from the opposite side of the counter. With a charismatic smile, you pushed forward your credit chit, and ordered your usual: a glass of your favorite brandy from Coruscant. DJ was about to order, rifling through his coat to find his payment, when you placed a hand on his.

           “I got this,” you said.

           He shot you a thankful look, and ordered  _his_  favorite. And what else would you expect from Canto Bight’s resident scourge? Nabooian whiskey.

           The human returned a minute later, and gave you both your respective orders. You waited, tense in your seat, minutes passing before you ever even touch your glass. With your attention rapt on the attendees before you, DJ couldn’t help but notice.

           “W-w-w-what are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

           “Let’s do it. I’ll handle the brunt of it – I just need you as my cop-out should anyone get a little too handsy with me.” You turned to him to see that he was watching with dark-cast eyes. Something in his gaze shifted – it was gloomy, contemplative, but decidedly imprecise. Like he was trying to hide something from you. Your mouth opened as you began to articulate a response to this look, when he lifted his glass to his mouth and took a  _long_ swig.

           “I’ve got your back, doll. Do your thing.”

           You nodded, almost hesitant from his ambivalent response, but ultimately stood from your seat after downing half your drink in one go, and wiping away the residue on your lips with the back part of your hand. DJ watched on, hyper-attentive as you strolled away to pick your first target.

           After scanning the crowd hovering at the bar for a solid twenty seconds, your eyes naturally honed in on one certain individual. He was older – maybe ten, fifteen years your senior. His dark locks fell in wisps around his eyes and ears, framing his face perfectly. He reminded you of one of your childhood crushes from old romance vids you’d watch late into the night. The stranger’s face alone gave you flashbacks of posters of said heartthrob littered across the walls of your old room. In one fell swoop, you sauntered to the open seat beside this handsome stranger, and placed a gentle hand against his shoulder as you approached. Attention grabbed, he turned from his drink to face you, and was suddenly captured by your night outfit. It molded to your body in  _all_  the right places, and this was even more apparent by the way his eyes rested on the subtle curve of your hips, climbing up until they reached the ever-so-slightly deep neck to your top. You eyed him, amused, as he didn’t  _quite_  catch himself staring yet. Not until you cleared your throat. His gaze finally met yours, and you could tell you were in.

           “May I sit here?” came your question at long last, in the sultriest tone you could manage, as you gestured with your head towards the open seat. He hurriedly nodded, pulling the stool out for you.

           Once seated, you leaned into the bar counter, and smiled with your eyes.

           “I hope it’s not too forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you when I walked in. What’s a handsome man like yourself spending the night alone in a bar for?”

           A laugh. Awkward, forced. Embarrassed? But he wasn’t turned off. The stranger rested his head on one hand, leaning forward.

           “Waiting for beautiful women like yourself to appear to make the night fun.”

           As hard as you tried, your façade faltered. You couldn’t keep yourself from giggling.  _That was pretty corny_.

           “What’s your drink?” he asked, waving down the bartender.

           “Abrax.”

           “Huh,” he chuckled, echoing your order to the barkeep. “Didn’t peg you as a cognac drinker.”

           “Oh, so you’re trying to figure me out, are you?”

           “What easier way to win your affections?” Again, a chuckle, as the distance inexplicably shortened between you two. Throughout the duration of your banter, he inched closer and closer, and you had almost forgotten why you were talking to him in the first place.

           Your gaze flitted to his jacket. As he shifted his weight to his other side, angling inside the coat to produce his wallet, you mentally catalogued the placement of the hidden pocket.

           “Got a name?” you asked lowly, as you retrieved your drink and took a tentative sip.

           “Jaryn,” he hummed. “And what’s yours, gorgeous?”

           Your answer came between sips, eyes watching him from the rim of your glass. Jaryn wet his lips, shifting in his seat as he watched you. The stare went on for what felt like eons.

           “I have a room at the nearby hotel,” he said, leaning a few inches from you. “We can get to know each other better there. In private. Yeah?”

           Your face heated up, but you didn’t break out of your character. Smiling your most sincere smile, you shook your head. “You’ll need another two drinks in me before that happens, tiger.”

           He grabbed you by your chin, pulling you closer to him.

           “That can be arranged—”

           At that point you realized (a little too late) that he was going in for a kiss. Your breath hitched in your throat as the alarms were ringing in your head. You did NOT want to go that far for one fucking wallet in a sea of wallets.

           But as the distance closed between his lips and yours, it dawned on you that you could be doing worse things. Every other time you tried this stunt on bar-goers, it always ended in some grotesque drunk dry-humping you while you kicked him off. This time, however? Your target was agonizingly handsome, and one kiss couldn’t hurt, right?

           Maybe you had been single for too long.

           You closed your eyes and waited for the fated moment when your lips finally met and melted together.

           Except that moment never came.

           “Yeah, that’s enough of that.”

            _That voice was familiar_.

           Eyelids flying open, the sight you saw before you was a red-faced Jaryn hanging by the collar of his overpriced suit, as your partner-in-crime scoffed in his face.

           “What are you doing?” you whispered in annoyance. DJ looked between you and your “date” almost three times before dropping him on his ass and grabbing you by your hand. Millions of thoughts, mostly confused and angered ones, bounced around in your mind, and you had to control yourself before you shouted his ear off. DJ walked you out the bar, to the alley behind it, and let go of you to pace back and forth for a solid minute. The silent treatment. Was he upset at you? For what reason? He was the one who blew the operation before you even touched the guy’s wallet.

           “Well?” you asked, short and, honestly, still a little buzzed.

           He turned to you, and approached with fervor. Stopping only a few inches before you, he glowered down at you, jaw hanging open, but no words coming out. The sight of it was admittedly a little alarming. Really, though, what was upsetting him?

           “DJ?” you asked again, this time your tone softening.

           When he heard your voice relax, suddenly the tension in his shoulders released, and he sighed.

           “You can d-d-d-do better than him, ya know.”

           “You stopped the heist because I was out of his league?”

           “No, that’s not—you know what I mean.”

           Crossing your arms, you looked up at him with a raised brow. “No, I really don’t.”

           “Don’t make me s-s-s-spell it out,” he pleaded.

            _Oh, you’re goin’ to._

           He stared. And stared. And when he got tired of the staring, he scowled.

           “Hell, Y/N, it’s cruel m-m-m-making me watch you get cozy with the spineless hacks we hustle.”

           “You’re jealous?” you said, without thinking. His expression stiffened, and he nearly backed away from you before you captured him by the arm, holding him in place. “Sorry – not jealous. But, DJ, you said I could do it. And we’ve been doing this same heist for so long. Why is now any different?”

           Pouting, he refused any eye contact. “Dunno. Just is.”

           “Is it because he was  _so hot_?” you teased. Judging by the way he sucked in on his cheeks, you could tell he didn’t find the joke all that funny. The poor thing. With a sigh, you tugged gently at his arm. “Look at me,” you urged. He did, slowly; watching you through hooded lids. “I won’t do it anymore.” He seemed unconvinced. “I just liked the idea of being with someone, even for one moment. Even if it’s just for their fucking credits. It was appealing to live out the fantasy.”

           At that, he relaxed. A hand came up to cup your cheek, and you missed the movement out of your peripherals. Reflexively, you jumped at his touch, but before you could voice any confusion, suddenly his lips were on yours. Shock overcame you, but it was the briefest of feelings, because not a moment later and you were melting into the kiss. You savored his taste – earthy and full, like a dark brew of coffee. Given DJ’s personality, you would’ve anticipated more heat to the kiss, but this one was quiet. Soft and unsuspecting. When he pulled away, your face went full red.

           “DJ—?”

           “No more seducing patrons f-f-f-for creds. I can’t stand seeing someone else do  _that_  with you.” You brought your fingers to your mouth, nodding slowly. “ _God,_  Y/N, you got some nice lips, y’know that?”

           The unease that surrounded you dissipated, and you laughed. Wholly, fully, unerringly.

           “I was just thinking the same thing.”


	2. first time (dj/reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: “How would DJ react to a virgin!reader?”

           “ _Don’t laugh_ , you asshole!”

           As if that would change anything. Really, you should know him better by now. Instead of calming, DJ threw his arms around his waist and doubled over, laughing even harder. Blooming red, you kicked one leg over the other, turning to face away and pout, as your arms crossed over your bare chest.

           The two of you were in the midst of quite the  _passionate_  make-out session when he slipped his hand beneath your waistband.

           Now, normally, this would be something you eagerly acquiesced to – DJ’s hands down your panties? You didn’t need to ask twice. But something about the way the night progressed led you to  _wanting_  more, and you knew he did too, but you couldn’t go any further without admitting something you kept hidden from him since the day you first started getting…  _friendly_.

           When you told him, his reaction (while anticipated) was quite soul-crushing.

           “Sorry, b-b-b-babe, I’m not tryin’ to embarrass you,” he managed out between gasps of laughter. “But you’re pulling my leg, right? There’s no way you’ve never fucked someone before.”

           Still sulking, you refused to look at him, lips tight and brows furrowed.

           It took him a moment to gather himself, and actually acknowledge you. Taking a seat at your side, he placed rough kisses on your neck, his stubble tickling the soft skin. Lips parted, you sucked in air out of surprise, but quickly melted into his touch. Little gasps grew into modest moans, and before you knew it your lips were on his again.

           He pulled away, a serious look in his eyes. “I mean it, y-y-y-y’know. I’m sorry.”

           Eyes lowered, you nodded, brushing your nose into his cheek, and sighing softly. “I shouldn’t have kept it a secret until now. I never thought I’d go this far with someone like you.”

           DJ scoffed, feigning hurt. “S-s-s-someone like  _me_ , princess? What’s that supposed to mean?”

           The awkward feeling clinging to the air faded, and you laughed into him, pressing your lips affectionately against his cheek. When you pulled away, eyes naturally searching his, his gaudy smirk calmed you.  _Something about this slicer…_

           Fingers came to your hair to thread through your soft waves.

           “Not to be corny, but I want you to be my first.”

           Suddenly, he stopped, expression going stiff.

           “Something wrong?” you asked, panicked.

           “Jus’ n-n-n-not something I hear everyday.”

           “So you don’t want to fuck me?”

           His brows pinched, and from the way your leg brushed against his body, you could feel something beneath the material of his pants throb.

           “Oh, that’s not the issue.”

           “Then what is it?” you pressed, feeling your face grow hot.

           “Not to put words in your mouth, s-s-s-sweetheart, but this is usually a big deal for ladies your age. You  _absolutely_  sure about this?”

           The look in his eyes betrayed nothing. There was some amount of insecurity to him – he didn’t seem the type to turn down a proposition you were offering him. Whatever reason he may have for hesitation, it hardly mattered to you. A long time ago (at least, it felt like a long time) you decided on DJ. You could only hope he would agree.

           So, with your heart racing like it never had before, you leaned into him, face nestled safely in the crook of his neck, and drank in his calming scent.

           “I haven’t a single doubt in my mind,” you admitted with a sigh. At that, you felt his arms come around your frame. And his next words left the hairs on your body standing straight up:

           “ _After tonight, you’re going to wish you chose someone gentler, sweetheart._ ”


	3. jealous? (dj headcanons)

_"Does DJ get jealous?"_

* * *

 

Oh, DJ gets jealous all right. Don’t let him fool you, he definitely can be possessive. Among many other things, DJ is a good actor, and he’ll try his best to hide any trace of jealousy from you, but it’s there. When you’re out together and you’re turning heads, his hand will protectively sling around your waist, keeping you flush with his body. A reminder to those staring, you are  _his_. And he is yours. 

Or when you two are out at someplace high-end, on a rare dinner date. The waiter flirts, it’s his job to; flattery is the easiest way to creds. But this time around he gets a little too into it, you’re laughing so loud, your beautiful cheeks heating up, and DJ notices. When you leave briefly to powder your nose, he makes sure to call over the waiter and politely ask him to  _never_  flirt with you again. Not if he valued his handsome little face. When you return, DJ instead flirts tenfold, and relishes in the high he gets when you smile.

DJ is not a bad jealous type. He would never get defensive about people you care for. While he might suck in his cheeks in discomfort when you introduce him to a past lover, he will never take the insecurity out on you. And it’s something you come to appreciate about him. Despite being a slicer, always moving, never settling for any person or cause, he becomes unmovingly devoted to your happiness, in his own minute ways. And you love him for it.


	4. bruised and battered (dj/reader)

_**Anonymous said:**  DJs reaction to you coming home battered and bloodied from battle?_

* * *

 

           Being a Resistance soldier wasn’t a cozy job. No one signing up for it would ever assume otherwise. Only the most resilient of spirits would take on the role, and even then, not many make it very far before dying or breaking down. It helped that you had nothing left to lose when you joined – you were orphaned, parents killed by First Order troopers during your late adolescence, and you took the first opportunity you had to join the Rebels and fight back.

           You vowed never to lose sight of your cause. It would always come first. Only when the galaxy was safe from Snoke’s rule would you finally devote yourself to settling down and living in peace. That was, however, before you met the slicer.

           DJ came crashing into your life  _quite literally_ ; he broke into your ship while you were stationed on Canto Bight: a diplomatic mission. He was found rifling through your stuff, pocketing any credits or valuables he could find. When you caught him you were seeing red. But DJ was, if nothing else, a smooth-talker. Before you knew it he had convinced you with that silver tongue of his not to turn him over to Organa (or the Canto Bight feds), and instead you ended up with his head between your legs for a half-hour.

           It was easy to forgive him after that.

           You don’t know when, or even  _how_  it happened, but eventually he became a regular part of your life. Yes, you’d hook up, but at some point it grew beyond that. Something consistent and committed. Before you knew it, you cared for him. Deeply. And it surprised you even more to know he had come to feel the same way.

           And that’s when you decided you would settle for someone, even while you were with the Resistance. That worked for DJ, because his life was too sporadic to accommodate anything else. You’d rendezvous as frequently as you could, enjoy each other’s company for a night or so, and go your separate ways until fate brought you back.

           While you both had your own reservations about the others’ line of work, there was an unspoken pact you had formed to never judge the other for their livelihood. Ultimately put off by your commitment to a (in his words) hopeless cause, DJ resigned to never voicing these qualms, and you thought it only fair to keep your lips sealed on how low he’d go for a measly credit chit.

            Still – he was always left stomach wrenching with anxiety over your well-being. The worst he’d been put through as a slicer/thief was being a little beat up and thrown into a prison. And, sure, he had the odd gun pointed at his head before, but his life never felt too threatened. You, however? DJ understood that  _you_  were laying your life on the line on the daily, and that never sat too well with him.

           You two had come to meet semi-regularly at Canto Bight, whenever it fit between your many missions, which, unfortunately, came infrequently. However, you had scheduled a brief encounter after the raid of a destroyer – you had planned to meet him at your shared apartment (you were both well-off enough to cover it despite living wayfaring lifestyles). The arranged time for the tête-à-tête came and went, and DJ was left waiting, stewing in his fear. You were  _never_  this late. The latest was an hour once, but you prided in your punctuality, especially to see the special codebreaker in your life. But when night passed and morning came all too quickly, he realized something must have gone wrong.

           He tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up. His blood ran like ice.

           It took you another eight hours before you opened the apartment door and came stumbling through, with a nondescript limp to your step. Covered head-to-toe in red stains and bandages, the sight of you surely left DJ in horrified awe. When you crossed the threshold, your lover frozen on the couch watching you, you couldn’t help but laugh – it came out as a pathetic wheeze. At that, he jumped to his feet and came to you, bracing you with an arm around your shoulder.

           “Damn it,” he whispered, his voice going quiet. “D-d-d-damn it, damn it, damn it…”

           “Something wrong, dear?” you teased, leaning into him to press a tender kiss against his stubble.

           “You’ve  _never_  came back like this before. I’m going to f-f-f-fucking  _murder_  those First Order fucks.”

           “Oh? Does that mean I can turn your application over to Leia, then?”

           A laugh. A hollow one, at that. A defeated laugh. DJ laughed emptily, grip around you going tighter as if you were quickly slipping away. Slowly, he led you to the living room, and helped you down to the couch, never once letting go of you. As you sat down, you winced, and he watched on in a mélange of worry and bitter anger.

           “What happened?” he finally asked, as you steadied your labored breaths. You looked at him with tired eyes and a calm smile.

           “What always happens. They’re more powerful and better-equipped. The raid cost a lot of fighters’ lives. We lost many ships, too. I ended up stranded on the destroyer, and I would’ve been killed if it weren’t for Poe chasing me down and saving me.” Your gaze traveled to your lap as you intently rubbed at your knuckles – they were swollen and bruised, colored a mix of sickly blues and pinks. “This cause is going to be the death of me. But there’s no better way I’d like to go out.” Though you laughed, your eyes betrayed the dark truth to your words. DJ watched on, horrified, but face stiff and expressionless.

           “D-d-d-don’t say that.”

           “It’s the truth,” you said, eyes meeting his.

           “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted. Caught off guard, your lips parted, and your brows pinched. Of course, you felt the same about him. While you knew he cared more about you than he led on, you always feared he would never commit to you the way he committed to his mantra – “Live free. Don’t join.” He seemed determined to live his life the way he best knew how: alone, and for himself.

           So that admission completely blindsided you. In the best ways possible.

           As your surprise faded, your gaze softened, and the corners of your mouth pulled into a sweet smile. You captured his lips in a slow, languid kiss. When you pulled away, he kept your face close with a hand gently cradling the back of your head.

           “S-s-s-say it to me,” he urged.

           “Say what?”

           “Say I won’t lose you.”

           You smiled, almost playfully, but you were reluctant to promise something you couldn’t guarantee. And the longer you took to respond, the more his expression grew dim.

           “Don’t make me say p-p-p-please, sweetheart.” There was a hint of humor in there. So, you nodded gradually.

           “You won’t lose me.”

           With that, DJ brought your lips to his and kissed you with a need he couldn’t contain, and you were so pleasantly overwhelmed by it that you tangled your limbs with his, and before you knew it, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch. Out of breath, you broke the kiss, and stared longingly into his beautiful eyes.

           “I’m still pretty sore,” you disclosed hesitantly.

           He nodded his understanding. “I’ll run you a bath, g-g-g-gorgeous. When you’re feeling better, we can try this again. I’ll give you a b-b-b-better reason to be sore.”

           His smirk was contagious, so you laughed with him.

           “I’m looking forward to it.”


End file.
